


Comfort (Is Your Hand In Mine)

by mystery_deer



Category: Crème de la Crème - Hannah Powell-Smith, Créme de la Créme (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: A lot of the Gallatin crew cameos in this but not enough to tag, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, It's all...about...the hands, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Touch-Starved, my mc is in this but if you're anything like me you can ignore him for Hartmann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: Hartmann hadn’t ever seen himself as someone greatly in need of touch.
Relationships: male protagonist/Eugene Hartmann
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Comfort (Is Your Hand In Mine)

Hartmann hadn’t ever seen himself as someone greatly in need of touch. As a child he didn’t have the kinds of toys that his brothers do; stuffed animals full to bursting with soft cotton that warmed with their faces at night. He remembered his parents’ looks when they would bring them to the table at breakfast and the words that would follow soon after. _“Do you think that’s appropriate?”_

The first night at Gallatin there were other students with trinkets from home. A girl with a frog-shaped coin purse, a boy with a toy rabbit so large Mr.Griffith nearly told him it couldn’t be allowed (but the boy was a crier and the man quickly conceded his point). Even Blaise had a worn book that her parents had read to her at night. Though she didn’t hug it Hartmann would sometimes wake up at odd hours and see her sitting up in bed turning the pages.

His parents and teachers praised him for his maturity.  
_“You don’t need to take that in the carriage with you, look, does your brother carry around a toy?”  
“Miss Delacroix, Mr. Van Meyer please follow Mr.Hartmann’s example and keep your hands to yourselves.”_  
And though he straightened up with pride every time a part of him ached.

His brothers soon outgrew sleeping with stuffed animals but took to running around hand in hand. If one began to cry the other was on him in seconds, stooping down and petting hair or pressing chubby hands against chubby cheeks.  
_“It’s okay!”_ One would say as the other cried. They knew even at such a young age that neither mother or father would be coming to comfort them. _"It’s okay, I’m here!”_

His role was always to swoop in after, to ask where it hurt and apply bandages and alcohol. His role was to fix, to hide. When he went downstairs his father, just around the corner, would ask him if everything was ‘sorted’ and he would nod. When he was younger he had no assurance that his crying would ever be attended to except with annoyance and barely hidden exasperation. 

He knew he’d grown up when instead of wanting his mother he wanted bandaids the color of his skin so the wound would be better concealed. 

At school he had friends but they weren’t the kinds of friends he saw wandering the halls with arms slung around one another, huddling together in the cold and blowing on each other’s hands to warm them. 

Blaise wore imported wool gloves from overseas, Hartmann wore Gallatin brand mittens and Max jammed his bare hands into his pockets. They walked in rows with Max sometimes weaving or balancing on a wall. This didn’t bother Hartmann. He would be alarmed if Blaise reached out and grabbed his hand or Max pulled him in for a hug. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do except detangle himself.

But when he saw Max grab Delacroix by the arm and race away somewhere or Blaise guide a new lacrosse player with her hand on their back to the field he felt that familiar sharp ache.

Jett was an odd person. He’d heard about him far before he met him in person. The poor unfortunate whose family gambled all their wealth away, dragging the Marcheals down with them.  
_"I heard he’s a good-for-nothing.”_ Blaise had said, voice full and shaking with an effort to hold back tears. Her hands were red and bare, homemade gloves shoved under her mattress. _“Just like his parents, he’s going to ruin everything.”_ Even then he hadn’t lifted an arm to console her, hands firmly in his lap and eyes straight ahead. He’d said something of course, tried his best to take her mind off her recent loss but rubbing the small of her back or pulling her in close was unthinkable to him. 

Jett joined the starlings but he was not a good-for-nothing. He was a big presence in every room, grinning at everyone confident that they would grin right back. He sat with Max and Delacroix behind trees and bushes where they thought no one could see them and smoked cigarettes until the sun set when they were supposed to be studying. Sometimes Hartmann sighed and wrangled them up with whatever prefects were around but sometimes he just watched their easy chemistry, watched them pick leaves out of Delacroix’s long hair and light fresh cigarettes from Max’s burning embers. He watched until he realized suddenly that he was watching Jett more than the three of them. Jett’s hands, large and gentle. Jett’s smile, wide and crooked. Jett’s face, bright in the evening sun.

He stopped watching then, re-committing himself to his prefect duties. He patrolled the halls with eagle eyes and anytime he saw the three of them hiding together he broke it up, feeling a slight thrill every time he burst into whatever nook or cranny they’d tucked themselves away in and dragged them out of it. _He hates me now, surely._ He thought. It didn’t bring him joy but it brought a steady peace. 

Then he invited him to dance.  
That grin was directed at him as Jett bowed with a flourish and invited him to dance.  
He was proud of how still his face remained.  
“You’re a starling. Why would you go with me?”  
“Because I like you.”  
“Right.”  
“I do! I like the way you look, the way you smile when you think you’ve said something especially clever-”  
“I do not-”  
“I like the way you get this little crease on your brow when you’re displeased. It’s cute- see! There it is now!”

He’d accepted.  
He’d rushed off to his own little corner of Gallatin and sat there, heart hammering and face red, thinking of Jett grinning.

_At him at him at him._

Dancing with Jett was different from other dances. His partners were usually exemplary, they held their head high and away from him to demonstrate their knowing the dance by heart. Their hands were frozen in the exact right places, their lips were fixed in the ghost of a smile or frown to project an elegant concentration.

Jett danced like a man possessed. He had training, obviously, but he twisted the moves into something entirely his own. He laughed as he spun Hartmann around, throwing his head back and his hand out to pull the other back into his orbit. He never let him stray far, never left him out on his own. Hartmann never knew where his hands would be; First proper, then gone, then at his hip, now at his hand, pulling, flinging, holding. It was frightening. It was exhilarating.

“I’ve heard rumors that you’re…” He found himself saying one day, staring up at the trees above them. His mind was reeling and his stomach was twisting itself in knots. 

“I heard that you have your eye on someone else.” He settled on, too nervous to name names. He still saw Jett with Max and Delacroix, lounging around campus with their limbs tangled around each other. He wished he could tell what to look out for. What kind of touch was intimate to a person like Jett or Max? He’d been thinking for weeks, lying awake in bed and worrying his blanket at the ends. He didn’t want to look desperate or silly or worst of all - be right. The thought of Jett throwing him back out into an orbitless isolation nearly convinced him not to mention it but in the end he couldn’t help himself. He was worried and more importantly, he reasoned, having a cheating partner would certainly be a bad look.

Jett’s face sobered in a way Hartmann had never seen before and he looked at him with a heavy sincerity. “That’s ridiculous, you’re the only one for me.” He said, taking Hartmann’s hand in both of his. Hartmann felt like electricity was running through his veins despite the quiet of the moment. 

“I only have eyes for you.”  
“Well...good. Good.” He stammered, all thought centralized in his quickly warming hand. Jett kissed him then and he felt that his heart would surely burst out of his chest from how hard it was hammering on it. He wouldn’t be surprised if checked and found the skin bruised.

There were a flurry of little touches after that. More quick kisses when no one was around, hand holding when they were in the library together (Hartmann reading and Jett dozing off in the sun), Jett hugging him from behind or tucking a stray hair behind his ear. All of them initiated by Jett.

One day as Hartmann was escorting two lost second years to class they began to talk about their own partners to each other, picking up a conversation he’d interrupted. He tuned everything out but one line.

_“I like her a lot but she never makes the first move, you know? It makes me wonder if she feels the same way.”_

The words rang in his ear the rest of the day. Could Jett doubt his feelings in the same way? A lump formed in his throat at the image of his partner confiding the same sentiment to Max or Delacroix. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He saw his chance to correct this during break when Jett came to him sheepishly and asked if he’d spend it with him at Gallatin.

“My parents kinda...forgot. Which is typical of them just...you know.”  
“That’s awful, of course I’ll stay with you.” He said, excitement and dread pooling together in his stomach. His mother would be cross about the last minute change and he could see his father’s disapproving look already. But most of his worry melted away at Jett’s grateful smile.

Being at Gallatin alone was so different from the usual experience. It felt odd to be in a place so empty with someone beside him. Even something as simple as eating dinner felt strangely intimate. Jett laughed at something Karson said and Hartmann moved a bit closer to him, their legs pressed together under the table. Jett responded by gently knocking their knees together and something sparked in Hartmann. He was part of it now, the easy chemistry he’d seen and envied for so long. The realization carried him through the rest of dinner and by the time they made it back to their dorm he’d worked up enough courage to make a proposal.

“Would you like to share a bed?” He asked, feeling himself flush immediately. He was already messing things up. “Not to do anything of course.”

Thankfully Jett only nodded and made room for him beside him, turning out the light. It was unusually quiet, he was used to listening to Gonzalez snoring and Freddie turning pages under his blanket with a flashlight. He was used to keeping an ear out for Max opening a window or Delacroix lighting something for a ritual, used to people roaming the halls outside for water or an ill-advised attempt to sneak out. 

But it was only quiet then, just him and Jett together.  
He could feel Jett’s chest rise and fall as he began to relax and him flinch a bit as Hartmann’s foot brushed against his leg. He flinched in return, moving back until he was pressed against the wall.

“Sorry!” He wasn’t doing this right, he didn’t know how.  
“For what?”  
“I startled you. You flinched.” He explained. Jett blinked blearily and yawned.  
“What? Your feet’re cold.” Hartmann was about to apologize again when Jett dragged him back, wrapping both arms around him.

Despite their difference in height it felt...safe. Easy. He began to relax as all the little touches melded into one big blanket of comfort. His feet against Jett’s legs, his arm across Jett’s shoulder, Jett’s head against his chest. All the connecting points between them became muddled into a comfort that filled Hartmann, that soothed an ache he had almost forgotten was there after so many years of feeling it.

“Is this odd?” He suddenly asked. Jett cracked an eye open.  
“...Is what?”  
“This, clinging onto one another.”  
“No," Jett said. Hartmann could hear the grin in his voice as he continued. "‘S odd that you’re talking so much at lights out.”  
Hartmann frowned. “I am not, there was no official lights out given because of the holidays.” Jett laughed softly, low with sleep.

“You’re insufferable, get out right now.”  
“I would if you weren’t trapping me.” Hartmann replied, closing his eyes. Jett paused for a moment.  
“What? Do you really wanna go?” Hartmann found Jett's hand and squeezed it lightly.  
“No.”  
“Good.” Jett said with a sigh and then fell quiet again, so quiet that Hartmann almost nodded off completely, thinking he was asleep.  
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” Jett finally spoke again. “I like being close with people I like and I like you most of all.”  
It wasn’t the most eloquent compliment he’d ever received but it touched him all the same.

“Thank you, I feel the same way.” Jett nodded and his hair tickled Hartmann's chin. He nearly complained about it, he would have if he weren't so tired.  
“‘Sides, there’s no one looking.”

As Hartmann began drifting off he floated past a memory of himself as a child in one of his house’s many winding halls. He was up and outside of his parents’ bedroom because of a storm. The floor-length window at the end of the hall flashed as lightning struck and somewhere in the dark the wind howled like something beastly. His hand was raised to knock but he paused. He thought about how his parents would be cross with him, how they wouldn’t appreciate being woken up. He steeled himself, turned around and ran back to his own room, flying under the blankets and hugging himself tightly. _“It’s okay, it’s okay.”_ He whispered to himself as the storm raged on and fear gripped him like a vice. _“It’s okay, it’s okay.”_

It occurred to him that if he were to tell Jett that he was afraid of anything - storms, the future, an unsavory fellow in the street, he wouldn’t be annoyed or laugh at him. He wouldn’t think it immature. He would say something comforting and touch him - hold his hand or sling an arm around his shoulder and tell him that it would be okay, that he was there.

“Thank you.” He murmured, turning to kiss Jett’s forehead but not quite making it in his exhaustion.  
“Hn?” Jett asked, but Hartmann was already sound asleep. Jett joined him after a few seconds and they stayed that way for the rest of the night, sometimes turning or exchanging one limb for another or half-waking up to rearrange the blankets but not once during the night was one ever not touching the other.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost titled this 'Hartmann needs a hug' like it is in my google docs but then I thought 'no, not vaguely poetic enough.' I just have feelings about the Starling route and about every scene where you cuddle an RO!!


End file.
